Colm & the Lazarus Key

by Kieran Mark Crowley

  She grabbed The Brute by the arm. A few hours ago this would have made him the happiest teenager in the country, but now he didn’t even notice. He didn’t answer. He just stood, staring at the creature that slowly crossed the clearing.

  Colm could barely keep his eyes open, but they were open just enough to see the miserable, foul thing that was coming for him.

  ·•·

  ‘Quickly, Kate,’ Cedric said when he heard Lauryn’s scream.

  ‘I can’t,’ Kate said, gasping in great lungfuls of air. ‘You go on, Ced. Help them. I’ll catch up with you.’

  Even though Cedric wasn’t speedy, he was faster than Kate. He burst through the briers, the thorns ripping at his clothes. This time he didn’t give his suit a second thought. He had to help the children. The light from his torch bounced around picking out parts of trees and the ground until it landed on a shape. Someone lying on the ground. He bent down. She was breathing. An old woman. It was Mrs McMahon.

  ·•·

  ‘Stop screaming,’ commanded the rat-faced little man, but for the first time in a long time one of his commands was ignored.

  Lauryn couldn’t stop. She had heard about the creature, but seeing it was far worse than she imagined it ever could be. It made her recoil in horror. In panic.

  ‘Get it away from me,’ she shouted. She shut her eyes. She couldn’t bear to look at it.

  But she didn’t have to worry. It wasn’t going towards her. Colm was its prey.

  The creature stretched out a long miserable arm and hissed one word.

  ‘Miiiiiiinnnnne.’

  It chilled Colm to the bone. He had to get away from it. But he couldn’t get up. His mind willed him to but his body refused to obey its instructions. The creature that was once Hugh DeLancey-O’Brien shuffled towards him. It was less than ten yards away.

  The rat-faced little man smiled. Then the smile changed to a frown, as The Brute roared and, with his head down, charged like a bull at the creature. He was right on course. Full speed ahead.

  He missed.

  He didn’t know how. The creature didn’t even appear to move, yet somehow it had evaded him. He’d get it the second time. He wouldn’t miss twice.

  He wouldn’t get the chance.

  The rat-faced little man grasped The Brute’s neck between his thumb and forefinger and The Brute slumped to the ground.

  ‘Lauryn,’ Colm said.

  She didn’t hear him. She was too busy screaming.

  He took a deep breath and felt the pain in his chest.

  ‘Lauryn,’ he shouted.

  This time she heard him. She stopped in mid-scream, her face a mask of confusion and terror.

  ‘Run,’ he whispered.

  She snapped out of it. Just like that. The old Lauryn was back.

  The creature was five yards away.

  ‘No. I won’t run. I’m not leaving you.’

  ‘Very admirable,’ said the little man, with a mocking laugh.

  Time seemed to stand still. Colm’s mind raced. There had to be something he was missing. What was it? The Key. No. Holding the Key. Whoever held the Key. And something else. Something he’d read. In The Book of Dread. The creature hated light. That was it.

  He lifted the torch. His hand shook, but he managed to focus and shone it at the thing that was moving towards him. It hissed. It didn’t like the light. But it didn’t stop it. It shuffled closer and closer. Colm willed the sun to rise above the trees and kill the creature, but dawn was still twenty minutes away.

  He couldn’t go out like this. Just sitting there doing nothing. Think, Colm, think, he said to himself. There had to be something. Some clue. Something he’d heard. Something he’d read.

  The rat-faced little man sat down beside Colm.

  ‘Not long to go now,’ he said.

  He was so close to Colm that their shoulders were touching. Well, at least if the creature gets me then he’ll get this man as well, Colm thought.

  ‘He won’t touch me,’ the man said, as if reading Colm’s mind. ‘The problem with Mr DeLancey-O’Brien over there,’ he nodded in the creature’s direction, ‘is that when he stole the Key in Boston he didn’t know how to use its power. I do. The knowledge was passed down by the Sign of Lazarus from generation to generation. We knew one day that the Key would return to us. I will rid the world of this vile creature. Unfortunately for you, you will have to lose your life in the process.’

  The rat-faced little man had never spoken that much in his entire life. He rubbed the tattoo on the inner part of his arm. The diamond with the skull inside. The symbol of the Lazarus Key. The symbol his father, grandfather and beyond had tattooed on their arms, all hoping one day to be the one who would return the Key to what they regarded as its rightful home. And now the moment was here.

  Colm tried to clear his mind of worry and fear. It didn’t work. But from somewhere, the idea popped into his head. Just like that. And he knew at once what he had to do. It was so simple. It was also difficult. He was only going to get one chance. If he failed then it was all over. And even if he succeeded he didn’t know if it would work.

  He needed Lauryn. She was clever, wasn’t she? He was about to find out.

  The rat-faced little man watched with glee as the creature loomed over Colm. He’d waited almost forty years for this moment. Ever since the day his father had shown him the tattoo of the skull and the diamond on his arm. He’d told him the story of the gang in Boston that every generation of his family had belonged to and how that Englishman – although he now knew he was Irish – had stolen their most powerful possession. The one that made them rulers. The thing that made them great. He had vowed then and there, even though he was only nine years old, that he would recover the Lazarus Key and that one day he would use it and that he would be as powerful as his ancestors had been. And now that moment had come.

  ‘Lauryn. The library. Do what you did in the library,’ Colm said, his voice barely above a whisper.

  The rat-faced man had let his guard slip for the first time in years. He’d been too wrapped up in his thoughts. That wasn’t like him. Had the boy said something? It didn’t matter. What could he do now?

  Colm didn’t know if that was enough for her. He hoped so. He couldn’t waste any more energy. He needed to save what little he had.

  ‘I told you not to speak,’ said the man.

  The creature leaned over Colm as if it was going to envelop him in its robes. Colm felt its icy touch and his blood ran cold. His eyelids fluttered. There wasn’t long left now.

  The rat-faced man spotted something out of the corner of his eye. A movement. It was the girl.

  Lauryn dived through the air. Straight for him.

  The man didn’t even try to stand up. He just swatted her away as if she was a fly that was buzzing around his head. Lauryn landed face down in the mud.

  The rat-faced little man threw back his head and laughed. Long and loud.

  With his last drop of strength Colm swung his arm around and slapped the man right in the mouth.

  ‘What do …’ the man began. There was something in his mouth. What had the boy done?

  Lauryn was on her feet in a flash. She knew what Colm had done.

  She jumped onto the rat-faced man’s back and clamped her hand tightly around his mouth. The man was stunned. Nobody had ever fought back. Ever. He’d show her why.

  He threw himself backwards and slammed her into the ground. She cried out in pain, but clung on to him. There was no way she was letting go.

  The object rattled around in the man’s mouth. He couldn’t spit it out. He tried to sit up, but Lauryn dragged him back down. The force sent the object flying to the back of his throat and it lodged there. The man coughed and spluttered. He was choking. His eyes began to water, but he didn’t panic. He never panicked. He did the only thing he could think of – he swallowed the object.

  He could breathe again. He shrugged Lauryn off. That was better.

  ‘I warned you,’ h
e said. He balled his hand up into a fist. He was going to have to teach that child a lesson. No, it didn’t matter now. He could do that in a minute. The creature had the boy. He had to watch this first.

  But then the thing that was once Hugh DeLancey-O’Brien released its grip on Colm and turned around. It looked straight into the face of the rat-faced man. The man frowned. A puzzled look on his face.

  ‘What are you doing? The boy has the Key, not me, you idiot.’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ Colm whispered.

  ‘But.’ Slowly it dawned on the man. The stupid child had thrown the Key into his mouth. And he’d swallowed it.

  His eyes bulged and the tiniest wisps of smoke escaped from the gaps between his teeth.

  ‘The only thing that can destroy the Key …’ Colm began.

  There was no need for him to finish. The man knew what he was talking about. He was smart like that.

  Question: What type of acid is the main acid in your stomach?

  Dad: Hydrochloric Acid.

  The creature reached out for him.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ said the rat-faced man. He wanted to run, but the Key was drawn to the creature and he couldn’t move. Not a muscle.

  Colm and Lauryn shut their eyes as the creature wrapped its wretched frame around the man. It had to have the Key. No matter what.

  The rat-faced little man’s screams rang throughout the woods.

  ‘Don’t look at him,’ Colm called out.

  ‘Not a chance,’ Lauryn replied.

  The screams seemed to last for an eternity, but eventually there was silence and when they finally opened their eyes the creature was gone. The rat-faced man lay on the ground. He looked as if he’d aged forty years in the last minute. He was still breathing, but he didn’t move.

  ‘Is he …’ Lauryn began.

  ‘No, he’s still alive,’ Colm said.

  The first rays of sunlight broke through the trees.

  ‘We did it,’ Lauryn shouted in delight. Then she saw Colm’s face. ‘Didn’t we?’

  ‘The creature is still out there.’

  ‘But it doesn’t have the Key.’

  ·•·

  The creature knew what had happened. It was defeated. But not permanently. The man it had taken wasn’t young and it was only able to get partial replenishment as it could not grasp the Key in its hand, but it had enough power to return to its chamber. There it would lie and wait. The Key it had stolen was gone forever, but there were two more out there somewhere in the world. It was certain of it. And somehow the Key would find its way to its chamber. All the creature had to do was wait.

  ·•·

  Colm tried to get to his feet, but he stumbled and fell back onto the mud. He was too weak. The swing had taken the very last bit of his energy.

  ‘We have to stop the creature getting back to its … lair,’ he said.

  ‘Where is it?’ Lauryn asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘He does.’

  He pointed towards The Brute.

  Lauryn leaned over Colm’s cousin and slapped him on the face. He groaned.

  ‘Hey, what’s your name. Brute. Wake up. We need your help,’ she said.

  ‘Whazzat?’

  He shook his head groggily.

  ‘He’s out of it,’ Lauryn said. ‘What are we going to do?’

  ·•·

  The creature was almost back at its chamber. The sun was growing stronger and although the trees offered it some protection it needed to get back underground. It could see the door now. It was close.

  Lauryn’s voice echoed through the woods. ‘Is anyone there? Stop the creature. If anyone can hear me – stop it now.’

  Foolish child, the creature thought. It couldn’t be stop-ped.

  ‘Is this a fancy dress party? Because if it isn’t then you’re making a horrible fashion statement,’ Cedric Murphy said, stepping out from behind a tree.

  The creature hesitated. Who was this fat thing blocking its path?

  Cedric shoved the trapdoor shut with his mud-covered Italian loafer. It closed with a loud bang. The creature glided towards him. It was weak now. The patches of sun were drawing away the strength it had taken from the rat-faced man. It reached out and grasped Cedric by the shoulder.

  He felt an icy chill run through him. His lips turned blue and his teeth began to chatter. All the strength in his legs went and he collapsed right on top of the trapdoor as the sun’s rays filtered through the trees and on to his prone body. Even though he was too unconscious to realise it, Cedric had taken away the creature’s last hope of survival. His immense weight was too much for it to move and it could not get back into its chamber.

  ·•·

  The creature screamed in rage. Smoke curled up from its robes. It was dying. All those years underground. All that waiting. It made no difference now. Its time was at an end. And as the sun’s rays pierced its body the creature that was once Hugh DeLancey-O’Brien saw the morning light for the first time in over one hundred and fifty years.

  Its dried-up old body began to wither in the light and by the time Cedric Murphy woke up several minutes later there was no trace of it to be found.

  ·•·

  Colm was feeling better. He knew he was on the mend because he was starving. He’d have given anything to have a double cheeseburger, chips and curried beans even though it was only half-past five in the morning.

  He felt even better when Lauryn returned with Cedric Murphy. They’d checked the underground chamber and found it was empty. Lauryn had said it was a cold and horrible place and she never wanted to see it again as long as she lived.

  Cedric had introduced himself and Kate as Bill and Jill, two tourists who just happened to pass by at the right moment, and having made sure everyone was all right they quickly said their goodbyes. It was only after they left that Colm wondered why they had turned up at the hotel in the middle of the night. Still, that wasn’t something for him to worry about now. He’d been through enough already and his brain hurt. A lot.

  There had been an awkward moment while he had waited for Lauryn to return. The Brute, who was more or less back to his old self, had checked that Colm was OK. They’d both stood there, unsure of what to say, even though after all they’d been through in the previous twelve hours Colm thought that it should have been easy for them to talk to each other.

  Finally, he’d broken the silence.

  ‘Thanks for, you know, trying to stop the thing, the, ahm, creature, from attacking me,’ he’d said.

  ‘No problem,’ The Brute had replied. He hadn’t looked at Colm. He must have found his trainers very interesting because he’d kept staring at them.

  Silence.

  ‘That creature. Sort of a mad thing, wasn’t it? Like some-thing from a movie,’ The Brute had said.

  ‘Yeah. Mad all right.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  They were both glad when Lauryn appeared.

  Seventeen

  Colm was both delighted and terrified when his parents were finally released from the cellar. Delighted because they were safe and sound and no matter how much they bugged him – and they bugged him a lot – they were his parents and he loved them. Usually he loved them because, well, he had to, but not now. He was actually pleased to see them.

  The terrified part wasn’t going to be any trouble until later on when he’d receive the lecture of all lectures, no doubt to be followed by the punishment of all punishments. At least he wouldn’t have to tell them about the creature. It’d be enough for them to think that some dangerous criminal had been on the loose and that he’d been caught up in the middle of it all, but if he told them about a … he wasn’t sure what to call it … some sort of zombie … well, whatever it was, they’d either punish him more severely for making it up or if they believed the story they’d have to be hospitalised for shock. Either way, it wouldn’t be good.

  His mother grabbed him in a bear hug and smothered him with kisses. He could see Lauryn smirking in the corn
er. But then he looked again. She wasn’t smirking, she was smiling. And to his great delight, The Brute got the same treatment. He didn’t seem to mind too much. He supposed that after all they’d been through a few kisses weren’t going to be that much of an embarrassment.

  His father ruffled his hair and gave him a friendly thump on the shoulder. It hurt.

  There was lot of talk after that. Too much of it. All he wanted to do was have a nice meal and a long sleep, but there was questions followed by questions and just when he thought they’d run out there were a few more.

  His parents took a lot of convincing that Mr Drake wasn’t a kidnapper and that he was only trying to protect them, but once Mrs McMahon was given the all clear by the doctor she managed to persuade them. She wasn’t too happy when his father peppered the conversation with the words ‘sue you for everything you’ve got’, but from the glint in his father’s eye Colm knew he wasn’t serious.

  Mr Drake would have to spend the night in hospital, but the doctor said that this was just a precaution and that he expected him to make a full recovery. After that, the paramedics carried the rat-faced man to an ambulance. The driver had asked if anyone knew him. He’d presumed that the man must have been somebody’s grandfather as he looked as if he was over eighty years old. When the Gardaí had turned up Marie told them that the man was on the FBI’s Most Wanted list. They seemed very interested in that, although they were going to have some difficulty in identifying him.

  They wanted to take statements from Colm and The Brute, but Mrs McMahon told them that the boys had been locked up in a separate room and hadn’t seen anything. The sergeant seemed suspicious, but since the man they were after was already under arrest, he let it go.

  A couple of hours later all the commotion had died down and Mrs McMahon brought them into the restaurant and insisted that they all have a cup of tea and a full Irish breakfast served by Mr Jenkins.

  The Brute said he wasn’t hungry, but as soon as he smelled the sausages cooking in the kitchen he realised he was ravenous and he ate everything that was put in front of him. There wasn’t much conversation at the breakfast table. Everyone was too tired and had spent long enough talking already. Colm was glad of the silence.